


From Hell

by MapleLantern



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Hux is Not Nice, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Prostitution, Robbery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleLantern/pseuds/MapleLantern
Summary: Whitechapel, London; mid-1800's.Poe Dameron's tavern does not have a reputable clientele. However, between a thug, a thief, two sailors, a beggar, a whore and a one-eyed mongrel, they bring in plenty of business.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "What if Kylo was Jack the Ripper?" 
> 
> From there it spiraled into an AU where Kylo is a thug in poverty stricken Victorian London and Hux is his two-penny whore.
> 
> (Thank you [Flyting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting) for discussing this AU - at length - with me during the wee hours!)

****Poe found Hux outside the Dog and Kettle that morning, although he had to light himself a cigarette and wait for a while until Hux re-emerged from the back alleyway he had been heading into when Poe spotted him. When he appeared again he spat, lit his own cigarette, then scowled when he saw Poe.

 

“Bit early aren’t you?” Poe said, grinning. When Hux didn’t reply, just glared at him through a puff of smoke, he carried on: “It’s been a week, cough up. I can’t run a tavern on an endless tab.”

 

“I haven’t got any money.” Hux lied with barely a falter.  

 

Poe rolled his eyes. “Yes, you have.”

 

“Not enough.”

 

“I’ll take part.”

 

“Go ask Kylo.”

 

Of course. A reasonable and yet at the same time completely unreasonable suggestion. Asking Hux’s hulking boyfriend for money was like poking an already angry bear; Poe would do it, he’d done it before, but shaking Hux down first was usually less hassle. 

 

Hux turned his face into the morning sunlight as Poe considered how to change his tactic.

 

“You really want me to pay you my way, Dameron?” He said silkily, picking a piece of tobacco off his tongue.

 

Poe opted for another eye roll. 

 

“Can’t run a business with my cock, Hux.”

 

That made Hux glare again.

 

“Go hang yourself.” He spat, dropping the end of his cigarette into the dirt. 

 

Poe sighed as he watched Hux walk away, prowling around the corner with a painful looking limp. Poe had been in the pub when Kylo did that to him, and still needed to mend the chair Hux had staggered back into when he’d fallen - it didn’t make the prospect of having to go and seek Kylo out now any more reassuring. 

 

*

 

Kylo was with Rey when Poe found him, watching her turn out her pockets down at the waterfront. BeeBee was with them too, sniffing about Rey’s legs and along the stacks of wet, empty crates waiting to be loaded back onto some boat or other. 

 

“He didn’t even twitch.” Rey was saying proudly, holding up a watch on a chain. “Weight to it like solid silver.”

 

Kylo was smiling, which is unnerving in itself, but it quickly dissipated on seeing Poe. BeeBee noticed him at the same time and comes running over, yapping excitedly until Poe patted his patchy fur, whereupon he set to the business of twining himself around Poe’s legs. 

 

“What do you want?” Kylo said.

 

Poe cocked a brow at him. “What’s owed. For the week.”

 

Kylo snorted. “I’ll bring it later. Hop it.” 

 

Poe hadn’t managed to keep his pub afloat for this long by not knowing when it was time to bow out - that he’d gotten the best he was going to get and now it was time to get out - so he inclined his head silently and began to turn away. 

 

One thing about the man, if Kylo said tonight then it would be tonight. He didn’t balk at paying what he owed, even if you had to chase him for it, which was fairly unusual in Poe’s experience. Hux would fight you for every penny, often literally, but Kylo seemed strangely unconcerned with paying his debts. 

 

“You keep it.” He heard Kylo say to Rey as he walked away from them, dog in tow; BeeBee having decided to follow Poe for the rest of the morning instead of Rey. “You earned it.”

 

Poe couldn’t help but wonder why Rey was allowed to keep part of her ill gotten gains, only handing over a portion to Kylo, when Poe had seen Kylo break Hux’s wrist for trying to keep less. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux and Kylo's relationship, then and now.

Hux had barely been home five minutes - enough time to strip down to his shirt and underclothes before crawling into bed - when Kylo came into the room. 

 

The stairs up to their rooms creaked something horrible, but even if they weren’t noisy then Kylo’s weather beaten boots would have made enough noise on their own. He watched Kylo squint in the darkness, eyes alighting on Hux before he dumped his satchel on the table with a rattle. Hux had learned long ago not to hope that it contained anything valuable. 

 

“What did you get?” Kylo asked, kicking his boots off his feet with a thud.

 

“Five shillings.” Hux replied, clenching his fists reflexively. 

 

“Give it.”

 

Hux handed it over in silence, watched the coins vanish into Kylo’s coat pocket, and then went wordlessly as Kylo pushed him back onto the lumpy mattress.

 

“Kylo-"

 

Kylo made a silencing noise as he settled between Hux’s legs, and Hux pulled his dark hair sharply. 

 

“No!” he snapped. “I hurt; five shillings-” 

 

“Shut up.”

 

Hux made a move to slap him, but Kylo caught his wrist in the air and huffed with amusement.

 

“Now now,” He purred. “Be quiet.”

 

Grudgingly, Hux gave up; the sooner Kylo had what he wanted then the sooner they could both sleep. 

 

*

 

_ The first time Ben Solo had seen Hux, Hux had been half hidden behind the body of the man already fucking him, crushed up against a filthy brick wall behind a fishery close to the river. He’d meant to look away, but then he’d met Hux’s eyes and been too intrigued to look away. Hux had held his gaze, his eyes steady even as his body was jerked against the bricks, almost as if to say ‘I’m almost done, wait your turn.’ _

 

_ He’d paid Hux two pennies, but fished out a much larger coin while Hux was getting on with what he’d been paid for down in the mud. _

 

_ “What?” Hux had said, irritated that Ben had stopped him.  _

 

_ Ben had pushed his lank red hair back from his face and paused before saying: “Can I hit you?” _

 

_ Hux blinked slowly. “Can you pay me for it?” _

 

_ “Yes.” _

 

_ “Alright.”  _

 

_ He’d paid Hux enough to drink the following week of agony into something bearable, but when Kylo thought about it now, Hux’s teeth cutting his knuckles even as his head snapped back really had been the short, sharp drop to Hell.  _

 

*

 

“You’re not my better.” Hux grits out, flexing his fingers once so that Kylo can feel the tendons in his wrists move under Kylo’s palms. 

 

“No, I forgot.” Kylo replied, smirking. “I forget your father was a fancy lord; every tuppeny whore’s had a fancy man or two in their time.”

 

When Hux doesn’t respond with anything but a glare, Kylo leans down so that his lips brush Hux’s ear as he speaks:

 

“Ever wondered if one of them was your father?”

 

He slackens his grip just enough to allow Hux’s slap to connect with his cheek, laughing in delight before snatching Hux’s hands back out of the air and returning them to their place against the lumpy mattress. 

 

“You know,” He continues, delivering a sharp bite to Hux’s shoulder when he gives a petulant wriggle. “From the right angle we even look alike. I wouldn’t have put it past my father to have some urchin tucked away somewhere.”

 

“Oh, fuck you.” Hux snarls, and then groans as Kylo pushes his bruised leg up over one shoulder. 

 

“Something to burn out of your mind with that paint thinner Dameron calls gin.” Kylo purrs as he shoves Hux’s face into the pillow so that he can look at the fingermarks he made on Hux’s neck yesterday when he comes. 

 

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thug and the whore aren't the only two who frequent Poe's tavern, sometimes the sailor and the beggar stop by.

When Kylo crossed the canal by stepping across the moored punts, Hux was leaning against the side of the stone arch, distinctive in a stained red waistcoat which was hanging open. He must have been working early, to be wasting his evening at Poe’s - he’d been gone already when Kylo woke up. 

 

Kylo hopped onto the flagstones and they stared at each other for a moment. 

 

“You eating?” Hux eventually asked, unfolding his arms and pushing away from the wall.

 

Kylo just walked past him, keeping their eye contact before settling into his usual corner to the other side of the arch. He glared at the man sitting there until he moved hastily off, leaving behind an empty tankard, which Kylo gestured at Hux. Hux snatched it and headed off to the bar with his usual ill humour, although Kylo swore he saw a hint of a smirk.

 

He came back with two mugs and an unlabelled bottle, the norm in Poe’s bar, and sat himself on the table itself as he filled them with sharp smelling clear spirit, long legs folded across the bench. 

 

“You skulking here for?” Kylo asked after the first draught. 

 

Hux stuck his tongue out. “None of yours.”

 

“Caught a good one, huh?” 

 

“Better’n you.” 

 

Kylo put his hand over the mouth of Hux’s cup as the redhead reached for the bottle again, before taking it in his own hand and re-filling his mug. 

 

“Surprised you can tell. You feel anything down there anymore?”

 

“Hang yourself!”

 

Hux’s favourite reply left a fleck of spit on the side Kylo’s nose and he laughed before slipping an arm around the skinny waist, underneath the patched waistcoat. 

 

“Maybe later,” He laughed before giving Hux’s ass a pinch. “Go get us some food.”

 

Hux boxed his ears before hopping off the table and heading to the bar, but Kylo could see him holding back his own mirth. 

 

Around by the bar, Hux had to glare another pale redhead out of his way in order to get to the large container of stew. Hux wasn’t sure if Kylo realised that he’d learned the staring habit from Hux - he hadn’t been able to look a goose in the eye before.

 

Techie scuttled away with his own full bowls, spilling some of the grainy liquid over his fingers and dancing a little as it stung. 

 

“What?” Matt asked him as he set the bowls down. “You had a fright?”

 

Techie shook his head, making his hair fall into his eyes, as he clambered onto the bench. “Hux.”

 

“Ah,” Matt snorted, digging his spoon into his food. “Kitty got nothing?”

 

“Matt!” Techie gasped, feeling himself blush but also fighting back a giggle. He quickly peaked over his shoulder to check that Hux was nowhere in earshot. “That’s awful!”

 

Matt grinned around his mouthful, narrowly avoiding spilling the food on his collar. 

 

“You’ve heard ‘em,” He continued, “Screaming a bit around March-”

 

“Matt, stop!” Techie covered his face with his hands, torn between mortification and giggles. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is harsh on the streets, Techie has to eat and Hux is not a nice person.
> 
> Warnings: Prostitution, implied rape

Poe watched Hux push the hair back from Techie’s forehead with one scabbed palm, saying something he couldn’t make out, and Poe couldn’t just stand there anymore. 

 

He grabbed an empty tray and began to collect empty bottles from the tables, making his way slowly around to the corner table by the archway which Hux and Kylo favoured. His timing wasn’t good - Hux still had a half-full bottle on the table - but his ruse was thin at best anyway. Hux caught his eye as he approached, not breaking it as Poe wended his way up to the table, only when he was two feet away did Techie look around to see him as well.

 

“Finished?” He asked Hux, putting a hand on Techie’s skinny shoulder.

 

Hux snorted. “D’you think?”

 

“Probably.” Poe said nastily. “It’s been what - fifteen minutes since you bought that bottle?”

 

The redhead glared at him and took a drink from his tankard, effectively dismissing him from his presence. Poe took the brief moment to turn his gaze down to Techie. 

 

“Give me a hand, Mop?” He asked as nonchalantly as he could. “H’penny in it for you.”

 

Techie looked terrified, his gaze darting between Poe and Hux like a creature caught in a trap. When Hux raised a brow and subsequently shrugged, he warily climbed off the bench and trailed back to the bar behind Poe. 

 

“Moppet-” Poe began quietly, only to be cut off almost as soon as the nickname had left his lips.

 

“Don’t.” Techie muttered, cocking his head so that the hair Hux had run his fingers through fell back down into his eyes. 

 

Poe closed his own eyes and took a deep breath. 

 

“Be careful,” He said quietly, once they had stacked a few dishes. “Please?”

 

Techie nodded sharply, and then slunk away back through the crowd. Poe didn’t see where he went after that. 

 

*

 

“You're a disgusting person, do you know that?” Poe spat as he banged down the bottle of gin on the bar. 

 

Hux just gave him a slow blink. 

 

“I'm actually paying you this time, and that's your closing line?” 

 

“Not  _ that _ ,” Poe said, bitterly. “I was talking to your landlady this morning.” 

 

When Hux said nothing, just un-stoppered his purchase and took three long gulps straight from the neck, Poe continued:

 

“She heard screaming, Hux. Crying. ‘And not the usual racket’.”

 

Hux, lifting his head from where he had let it fall back as he breathed through the burn of the gin, sneered at him. 

 

“Mind your own, Dameron.” 

 

Poe grit his teeth.

 

“One day someone’s going to take it out of your face.” He said, snatching a stack of empty cups and loading them onto a tray with more force than strictly necessary. 

 

Hux just let out a bark of laughter and Poe glared at him. 

 

“You deserve worse.” 

 

“I’m sure.”

 

When Hux had gone, Poe rubbed one hand across his face and sighed heavily before pulling out his ledger and scanning the columns of figures. There were a few errands he’d been meaning to run himself that morning, but it was summer and the resulting upsurge of shipping trade was doing wonders for business as the wharf was flooded with thirsty sailors, and he could afford something to spare. He scribbled a few things on the back of his hand to jog his memory and wearily went back to the work of preparing for the evening, hoping that before the light faded Techie would appear looking for some respectable work. 

 

If he also set aside a shot of his strongest liquor for the kid, well, it couldn’t hurt. 


	5. Chapter 5

“I will not!” Hux hissed, clawing his fingers into Kylo’s shoulders.

 

Kylo ignored this, turning away and saying blithely:

 

“He’ll go, Tarkin.”

 

Still behind Kylo, Hux made an angry noise, halfway between a snort of laughter and derision - “No he won’t, Tarkin.” - and took a drink straight from the bottle he was still holding.

 

The way Kylo froze warned everyone present, including Hux, that those had been the wrong words, but the redhead didn’t move. Hux just continued to glare at Kylo’s back, shoving his bottle of gin back onto the bar. 

 

“Yes, he w _ill,_ Tarkin.” Kylo shouted the penultimate word and punctuated it by spinning on his heel and grabbing Hux by the biceps, throwing him hard into the side of the stone archway. The redhead crumpled to the floor, momentarily winded, before gasping air in only to retch. 

 

Finn, Poe, Rey and Matt all shouted at the same time; Finn and Matt leaping forward to grab Kylo’s arms, only to be flung off. 

 

“He’ll go, Tarkin.” Kylo repeated, in his usual soft tone, nodding to the old man and giving the wincing Hux a look of disgust before retreating back across the canal and into the darkness. 

 

When he was gone, Rey tiptoed over to Hux and crouched beside him. 

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Hux retched a final time, and them scowled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

“Fine.” He spat. 

 

Rey put an arm over his shoulders. “I can-”

 

“Get away!” Hux gave her a weak push before bracing himself against the wall to stand. He wavered a moment before addressing Tarkin: “Where? When?” 

 

“The bridge.” Tarkin replied, as if he hadn’t been witness to a damn thing. “9 o’clock. I expect at least five pounds.”

 

Hux grimaced in response, and began to limp slowly out of the bar. 

 

It’s not like he hasn’t met people after dark on London Bridge before. He’s probably one of many lurking on the stone steps at this hour; he knows he is. The streetlamps alight on all of them, coloured hair and tatty, garish fabrics alike, while coaches either pull past or stop to pick up a passenger. The one which stops by Hux is a cab, no insignia, but he knows the beckoning hand which opens the door and climbs in with no hesitation. 

 

“He’s a brute.” Is his greeting - Tarkin’s soft, placating tones aways the same. “I do not condone it.”

 

Hux says nothing. His head is still swimming despite the cool night air, and he isn’t in the mood to talk. He wants to sleep or maybe drink it off until morning, when he wcan at least inspect his bruises, trophies to display at least for the pain endured. 

 

“What do you want?” He grumbles instead, hoping to get this over as soon as possible.

 

“You’ll find out soon enough, pup. Soon enough.” He says softly, leaning the cane against the closed door and beckoning Hux over into his lap. 

 

When Hux crawls over, Tarkin pushes Hux’s hair back from his forehead, tilting his head to inspect the bruising by the light of the single lamp inside the cab. Hux can feel the sticky hair pulling free from where it has scabbed over as he does so. Tarkin makes a disapproving noise through his teeth and mutters ‘poor boy…’ as he reaches over and bangs his cane on the ceiling with one hand, working the other past Hux’s waistband as the cab lurches forward. 

 

A half hour later Hux has washed his face in Tarkin’s bathroom, scrubbing the dried blood from his hair with a bar of hard soap, and feels a little better by the time he emerges into the library. When Tarkin beckons him over to the fire he feels even better as he is passed a crystal glass filled with brandy, which Tarkin merely tuts and refills when Hux drains it in two swallows. 

 

“I’ll forgive your manners for now,” He sighs. “Considering your condition.”

 

“Still didn’t tell me what you want.” Hux replies, attempting to sip his refilled glass at a slower pace. His head is still throbbing, but at least the world is beginning to swim back into focus. 

 

Tarkin smiles at him lazily, leaning back in his chair so that Hux’s gaze is drawn to the splay of his thighs. 

 

“I imagine there’s something you want, lieutenant?” He says, sipping his own brandy. 

 

Hux gets the game. 

 

He gulps the last of his drink and climbs into Tarkin’s lap, the breeches Tarkin had him change into in the bathroom not making it easy to straddle him, although they suddenly make more sense, as does Tarkin’s own dress. Hux suddenly grins, struck by an unusual bout of playfulness, and plucks Tarkin’s hat off his head. 

 

“Always take a chance to play soldier, /sir/.” He says lightly, dropping the hat onto his own head and sticking his nose in the air, eyes still on Tarkin.

 

Tarkin gives him a fond look, but says nothing; He always has a certain leeway for cheekiness, to a point, seeming to find it endearing. 

 

“Real soldiers are for a price,” Hux continues, curious. Tarkin is some sort of army officer, he must know what goes on in his regiments. “Commissions are cheap, why not-”

 

Tarkin waves a hand, cutting him off. 

 

“I know, pup, I know.” He sighs, putting down his brandy glass on the table beside them. “But one does not like to invite trouble. And some of them are so.. inexperienced.”

 

When Hux gives him a look, Tarkin merely cups Hux’s chin in his long fingers and pushes the brim of his hat up a little so he can better see Hux’s face

 

“Forgive me the question, pup, but what is your age?” 

 

Hux, not seeing any reason to lie, tells him. People are usually surprised, but Tarkin is never visibly ruffled for anything. 

 

“Younger than my last daughter.” He muses.

 

Hux isn't sure what to say to that, so he rolls his hips instead and pitches his voice, slipping into his assigned role. 

 

“How do I convince you, sir?” He breathes in Tarkin’s ear, falling back into the role Tarkin has requested.  

 

“Oh, I think you’re smarter than that, pup.” Tarkin replies, clipped and not at all like his previous soft, affectionate tone. 

 

*

 

He’s feeling so nauseous when Tarkin’s driver drops him back on the bridge, just before dawn, that he has to press his forehead against the stone fencing for a minute to keep down his breakfast. Tarkin always insisted on a meal before he let Hux leave, calling it ‘his treat’ as if Hux was a dog to be rewarded on top of his payment. The headache is radiating from just above his temple where it struck the stone over six hours ago, and if his eye hasn’t bruised by now then it’s almost unfair, to be so tender yet with no trophy to display. 

 

The walk takes nearly an hour, where usually it would take half the time, and when he climbs the stairs to their rooms it’s as if they are made for giants. 

 

“I’m trying to sleep.”

 

It’s snapped out of the darkness as he’s trying to unlace his boots, but he says nothing, just climbs into the bed without making any effort to be quieter. 


End file.
